


Through the Valley of Death

by emynii, ObliObla



Series: Nia & Obli's Whumptober 2019 [10]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Episode Tag, F/M, Hurt Chloe Decker, Hurt Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Hurt/Comfort, Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV) Devil Reveal, Post-Episode: s02e18 The Good the Bad and the Crispy, Survival, Whump, Whumptober 2019, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-09 16:15:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20997668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emynii/pseuds/emynii, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObliObla/pseuds/ObliObla
Summary: AU Post Season 2, Episode 18: Lucifer wasn't the only one kidnapped outside the hospital, and now Chloe is faced with the absolute truth. Unfortunately there are bigger problems to deal with.And there really is no more going backwards.For the Whumptober prompt: unconscious





	Through the Valley of Death

**Author's Note:**

> A little late, but we'll be caught up soon!
> 
> Additional warnings are in the end notes.

After Hector Ruiz, after Charlotte Richards, after Lucifer continuing to be cagey for no apparent reason, Chloe was exhausted when she finally made it to St. Claire’s. Linda had had some kind of accident, she’d heard. Something else Lucifer was being weird about, but at least she was apparently doing okay.

Chloe stifled a yawn as she got out of her car. The hospital parking lot was mostly empty, and no one was around. She pulled out her phone to check the time. Hopefully, it was still early enough for visiting hours. There was a new voicemail; she’d muted her phone. It was from Lucifer, and she frowned. But before she could pull it up, she heard a grunt and a _ thud _.

Someone was lying on the ground by the hospital sign.

She rushed forward, thinking a patient may have collapsed. But when she rounded the sign she saw a familiar suit, a familiar ring on a familiar hand’s finger.

“Lucifer!”

She knelt on the asphalt. His hair was matted with blood, and his body was limp. She pressed her fingertips to his neck, feeling for a pulse. She found it, weak and thready. “Thank_ God,” _ she whispered. She looked up, preparing to shout for someone, _anyone,_ but then she felt a sharp pain behind her ear, and there was nothing left but darkness.

* * *

Chloe woke slowly, limbs sluggish from sleep, from pain, and, most likely, from sedation. Her mouth tasted like bile, and her head was full of cotton. She was also far too hot, lying on something rough, and covered in a heavy, _ feather_… blanket?

She pushed at it, but it wouldn’t move. Biting back nausea, she shoved it down, freeing her head. She blinked in the sudden sunlight, turning her head to see what had caught her. A wing.

Not a blanket, a wing.

A wing larger than any she’d ever seen, feathers white and shining and _ perfect. _ And attached to the wing…

A body, lying prone, head tilted away from her.

She scrambled backwards, reaching for her gun, but didn’t make it very far. Something pulled, hard, against her wrist and she realized she was bound by her own handcuffs, attached to the person’s wrist. And on the middle finger of the hand there was a concerningly familiar ring, silver with a large black stone.

“Lucifer?” She almost breathed the word, fear rising in her like a tidal wave, threatening to overwhelm all sense, battling with an undercurrent of concern.

Lucifer had wings. Lucifer was hurt. Lucifer had _ wings. _

There had been an auction, months ago. And there had been wings—_gorgeous _ wings—that Lucifer said were fake. Weren’t _ real_. Because his real wings…

Her head pounded; the sun beat down. Nausea rose again, and she choked it back. Maybe they were just props. She reached out to touch one, and it twitched under her hand. Maybe...maybe they were attached to some kind of mechanism. She pressed forward, careful not to touch, looking at where the wings extended out of Luci— _ the _ back. The jacket looked intact. She tugged on it, carefully, watching where it met the shoulder blades. Bits of the fabric seemed to clip through the feathers. She blinked. Maybe she was seeing things. A hallucination, a mirage. But somewhere, deep inside, she knew.

Lucifer was the Devil.

Everything he had ever said was true.

And if Lucifer was the Devil, that meant there was a Heaven and a Hell and a _ God; _ and God was Lucifer's father, and....

She clamped down on her thoughts as her brain threatened to boil over. Now was not the time to completely lose it. There would be plenty of time for collapsing under the weight of this new reality when she was safely at home, under the blankets—real blankets, not _ giant goddamn angel wings_—and preferably with an entire box of wine.

And even as she watched, paralyzed by her whirring thoughts, Lucifer woke with a start, eyes wide and staring, wings thrashing violently. She pressed herself to the ground, covering her head with her free arm. The near wing slapped against her back, dragging across and she hissed as something tore into her.

She yanked at her restraints again, clawing at the sand, but she couldn’t get away from the massive, flailing wings.

“Please,” she heard herself whisper. Her vision whited out from the combination of pain and panic. “Please, L-Lucifer.”

And he froze, letting out a wailing, inhuman cry, and slumped back to the sand.

Chloe’s frantic breathing was the only sound in the silence.

She reached out—slowly, carefully—with her free hand, and poked Lucifer in the back. He didn’t stir. Fear battled with concern again. Fear won.

She pulled herself onto her side, as far away from him as she could manage, feeling the strain on her wrist. She reached back with her other hand, checking on her wounds, to find her shirt shredded in places and the fabric tacky with blood. The wings had buffeted against her back, trailing bruises across her skin, and she glanced over her shoulder, watching them with trepidation. They dragged against the ground, edges stained red, even though she couldn’t see anything that could have cut her.

She _ had _to get free. If he had another fit there was a good chance she wouldn't be able to dodge whatever it was on the wings that had sliced into her back. She was already dehydrated, her lips chapped, her mouth dry; she couldn't afford to lose more blood. Who knew how long they'd been out here.

And who knew what might happen if he woke up.

She knew what to do. The cuffs weren’t so tight that she couldn’t get them off—at least, with the proper thumb dislocation and a certain degree of chafing. She stared at her hand, the thumb tight against her other fingers. She pressed against the joint, testing the pain. If it didn’t work, the dislocation combined with the lack of blood flow would be unpleasant, to say the least.

She glanced over at Lucifer, still unconscious. It was hard to be afraid of him, passed out on the hard ground, but he was the _ Devil. _ The Devil was real, _ Hell _ was real, and those thoughts pounded against the inside of her skull again, but she shoved them down.

She took a deep breath, tried to prepare herself for the pain, and pushed, _ hard _. With a short cry, she let go, tears welling in her eyes. She dropped her bound hand to the sand, lifting the other to wipe at her face.

Fuck.

Her head ached, worse, now. The sun was still so hot, and the dam burst, images flashing in front of her eyes. Jimmy Barnes shooting Lucifer, and him brushing the bullets off, and then later… _ He’s the Devil. He’s the Devil. _ Lucifer throwing Joe Hanson through a window with a flick of the wrist. Lucifer's eyes flashing red, his face burned and flayed and _ horrible _ , then begging her to shoot him, and _ maybe you’ll finally realize_... Malcolm waking up _ wrong, _ convinced he had been in Hell, Dan had told her, later, after... Lucifer bleeding out on the floor of a hangar that would always live in her nightmares, and getting up again.

Someone was muttering wildly. Chloe realized the nearly hysterical voice was hers. She yanked at the cuffs violently, feeling them bruise and cut into her wrists, but she had to get away. She had to get away from the monster before it woke. She had to get away _ now. _ She—

Lucifer woke with a strangled sound.

Chloe froze. If she was quiet, maybe he wouldn’t notice her.

He groaned, voice rising into a whine. “Ek…” He beat his wings, and Chloe dove to the rocky ground, biting back a cry as the long flight feathers sliced into her skin again. But she had to stay silent.

He shook violently. “Ek ta... F-fenda…”

It wasn’t English, whatever it was, drawn from his lips almost like birdsong, harmonies overlaid in an impossible torrent of sound. She wondered, as he continued to try to speak, if she had ever heard anything more beautiful, more terrifying.

He seemed to be pleading with something, or someone. His wings trembled, and he pulled himself up for a moment before crashing back into the sand, his head facing her, now. His eyes were closed, but he directed his face upward. His hand twitched, then moved, and Chloe was dragged forward, trying desperately to stay quiet. His hands met above his head in something like prayer, before he slumped again, words petering out.

His eyes opened. She had expected them to be red, maybe, or at least _ changed_, but, besides the lack of recognition, they looked as they always had. He blinked, frowning, and started blearily looking around. She forced her limbs to stay still, like she was being watched by a snake, any sudden movement provoking a quick, fatal strike. And maybe she was.

He hissed in a breath, voice shifting to a different language, but still not one she recognized. “Ani lo… _ Ana _ . L-lo. _ Lo, _ ani...”

_ Speaking in tongues_, her mind whispered. But then his gaze finally fell on her, and she couldn’t think at all.

He took a deep breath, switching languages again. “Den mboro… E-ego chrei…chr—” His face screwed up in concentration. “Ch-ch…” His tongue got stuck on the fricative, and he growled, something sparking in his eyes that was gone almost before she could register it.

Another wave of fear passed over her, and she felt her heart stutter. There was the fire she had seen before. The torment. _ There _ was Hell. Her mind was screaming at her, but she couldn’t force herself to move, even as she tried. And she couldn’t get away.

_“Chloe,” _ he said suddenly, with a strange accent, certainly, but it was definitely her name.

She had heard him say it so few times, but now it seemed to be all he could say. “Chloe, _ Chloe.” _

“Chloe,” he’d said, holding her as she bled out on the floor of the recording studio. And she’d gasped, “I don’t want to die,” as he took Barnes’ bullets, promising, “I won’t let you.” Or on the beach, when he told her, “I’m not worth it,” and she’d kissed him, wondering if this was love. Or before she was poisoned, when they’d been _ together_, if only for a moment, and he had asked, with so much hope she might have been blinded by it, “This is real, isn’t it?”

Fear and concern, still fighting in her head, in her heart, reached the final showdown. And concern, beaten and bloody though it may have been, won.

She crept forward and reached out, hand shaking, to brush the sweaty hair from Lucifer’s face. He closed his eyes and pressed into the contact. She took a slow, measured breath. “Are you...are you—?”

“M’okay,” he muttered, voice suddenly exhausted.

She grabbed him by the shoulder, amazed by her own brazenness, but willing, for now, to have faith. “Stay awake, _ please.” _

_ “Srry,” _ he mumbled.

“Please, Lucifer.”

His head fell to the sand again. He didn’t respond.

“No!” she shouted, but she knew he couldn’t hear anymore.

She worried her lip, blinking rapidly. No. _ No. _ She couldn’t panic. Not now. “Okay, okay,” she muttered to herself. “I can do this. I can _ do this.” _ If she said it enough times, maybe she’d believe it.

First thing was to survey her surroundings. Besides noting that it was sandy and rocky, she’d barely noticed anything but the _ wings_. And, of course, the partner they were attached to.

She rearranged her limbs so she could sit up, looking around. The ground was flat, dry, and featureless. The mid-morning sky was blue and cloudless, and the sun was cruel in its intensity. In the distance, there were equally dry and featureless hills, mountains even, shaded by the heat haze.

Death Valley. They must have been in Death Valley. It had been around eight o’clock when they’d been kidnapped; it couldn’t have been much later than five when she woke up. Assuming they hadn’t lost _ days_—and she refused to even entertain that idea—that was plenty of time to do… whatever it was they did and drive out here.

She was certain she had been drugged; she tried not to think about what else they may have done. Or who they were.

She knew she didn’t have her gun or phone, but she dug into her pockets seeing if she’d been left with _ anything. _ Her spare pair of nitrile gloves was still in her jacket pocket, along with the small multitool her dad had bought her. She thanked _ not_-God that whoever their kidnappers were, they’d overlooked it.

She kneeled over Lucifer and grabbed his jacket, yanking both sides out from under him; he was too heavy to be gentler. He didn’t shift, didn’t make a sound. She wasn’t sure if that was a bad sign or a good one.

Checking his pockets, she found that he still had his flask, half filled with whiskey, along with his cigarette case, his lighter, several small baggies of various drugs, a couple joints, and a strip of condoms. She was surprised no one had bothered confiscating them, either. What kind of kidnappers left people in the desert with potentially valuable possessions?

Chloe pushed her findings into a pile and stared at them, as if a tent and water and a satellite phone might materialize out of them from some sort of bizarre alchemy.

It wasn’t like what she knew about the universe was true anyway, right?

Nothing happened, of course, and she rolled her eyes at herself. She glanced up at the already too hot sun, still rising into the day, and frowned. They needed shelter, they needed _ water_, and she knew she couldn’t drag Lucifer anywhere. But… the cuffs. Her key was on her keychain, but her multitool had a file. And a file could open handcuffs.

Her dad had given it to her when she was fourteen. It was a small thing, and she kept it on her at all times. She opened it up and looked at the cuff again.

_ It’s alright, monkey, _ her dad whispered from the past. _ You’ve got this. _

She turned her wrist to see the mechanism. Thank… _ someone _ the kidnappers hadn’t double locked the cuffs. She nodded to herself and pressed the edge of the file between the ratchet and the teeth. She felt the pawl release and pulled the cuffs open, massaging at her already bruising wrist. She eyed Lucifer’s wrist. She didn’t _ want _ to be afraid, but even the thought of trying to uncuff him while he was unconscious filled her with dread. He’d just have to live with them for now.

_ You could run_. The voice wasn’t her dad’s anymore, but it was still whispering. _ He’s the Devil. He’s dangerous. Just leave him. _

She watched Lucifer as he breathed shallowly, face pressed against the rock. There was sand on his lower lip and a bruise still stark on his cheek. She knew he was dangerous; she’d _ known _ he was dangerous, and it hadn’t stopped her from letting him be her partner. She knew he was volatile, violent, and engaged in shady acts with shady people. She had told him as much to his face, and he had laughed, seemingly proud of his iniquities. But he was also generous, honest, and genuinely liked to see people happy. He was an enigma, a walking contradiction. He was the most complicated and, though she would never tell him, the most _ fascinating _person she had ever met. And none of that had ever made her not want to work with him. 

Her choice was already made, it seemed. And the only other thing she could do was try to keep him from dying. She didn’t even know if the Devil could die, but she didn’t want to find out.

She rearranged herself, deeply glad to be free of her restraints, taking in her small pile of supplies again, then glancing at Lucifer. His head wound was obvious, and she supposed it must have been why he was still out of it. A human might’ve died, being unconscious for so long, but maybe devils had different rules.

_ Just shoot me, Detective_.

She shook her head; definitely different rules.

She wasn’t sure where the bruise on his cheek had come from. Wasn’t sure if that was his only prior injury. But he was too heavy, and, with the wings, it would be almost impossible to flip him over.

She resigned herself to do what she could. She pulled her jacket off and used her multitool’s scissors to cut it into a few pieces. Carefully, she poured a little whiskey onto the wounds on his arms, wrapping them the best she could. Next, she turned to the head wound. There wasn’t much she could do besides wrap it up and try to keep it as clean as possible. It wasn’t bleeding anymore, at least. There was no blood soaking through his suit jacket, but that hardly proved he was okay.

She knelt beside him, trying to avoid the wings, and pulled up his jacket and shirt as much as she could. Bruises dotted the skin, though they were yellowing with age. Lucifer groaned, but didn’t wake, and she pressed the fabric up just a little more. And there, on the side of his hip, she saw it.

A patch.

Her immediate impulse was to tear it off and throw it far, far away, but she stopped herself. Lucifer drank whiskey like it was apple juice and, apparently, went through eightballs of coke like they were going out of style. Anything that knocked _ him _ out must be beyond strong.

She picked up her multitool again, and opened the needle-nose pliers. Carefully, she pulled the patch away from his skin. She grabbed one of her gloves and slowly slipped the patch in, tying it shut. They would need it as evidence, maybe, when they got out of this.

She refused to use the word ‘if’.

As she slumped back to the ground, she was reminded of the wounds on her back. She soaked a corner of jacket in whiskey and reached back to clean them. She gritted her teeth and pressed past the pain, wiping sand out of them. All she could do was try to keep off her back as much as possible.

She settled back to the rough ground a little farther away from Lucifer. Hopefully, if he woke up again—_when _ he woke up again—he wouldn’t hit her with his wings. It was getting easier to look at them, though no easier to think about them. But existential panic could come later. Right now, she was… hot. Really hot. And between the heat of the sun and the adrenaline wearing off, she was _ exhausted. _

But she couldn’t sleep. She had to figure out their next move. She had to…

* * *

A screech echoed from above Chloe’s head, and she was torn from a confused dream full of feathers and fire and shackles and _ falling _to find Lucifer’s body bucking against the ground, the motions jerky and unnatural.

“Lucifer!”

She shuffled across the ground, but froze a few feet away, afraid to move closer. His wings were whipping through the air again, and she could see, now, that the longest of the flight feathers seemed almost like knives, sharpened, somehow, in his desperation.

He whined, the sound of an animal in distress, like a seagull caught in a fisherman’s net, beating his wings wildly. He turned to his side and reached behind himself, clawing at his back, tearing at the jacket, the shirt. 

Clothes stripped off, Chloe could see where the wings met his skin, at least, for a moment, before he was grabbing at the feathers, ripping them out by the handful, tightening his grip on the bone so he could—

“Stop!” Chloe cried. It was like he was trying to pull the wings off himself.

He didn’t seem to hear her, muttering, “No, no, _ no!” _

“Lucifer, _ stop!” _

“Please, I can’t— Don’t… _ Get them off!” _

His hand trailed from his wing to the cuff still attached to his other wrist; he yanked at it, the metal twisting easily in his grip, and threw it, breathing heavily. He was staring at her, but his eyes didn’t seem to register her. 

“Lucifer,” she said as calmly as she could manage. “It’s okay.”

“No,” he said again, blankly, glancing up at the sky. “No, no, _ no_…”

“It’s going to be—”

“You can’t _ do _ this!” he yelled, at nothing, at everything. “You can’t just undo what I...what I…” His gaze fixed back on Chloe’s face, and he seemed to see her this time. “You _ can’t.” _

And he slumped back to the ground, panting roughly. She wanted to go to him, comfort him, but fear was pulsing through her body again. She couldn’t help the adrenaline response that told her that this thing in front of her would hurt her.

She tried to calm herself while Lucifer fell into something of a trance. Minutes passed, and her terror dissipated. Her eyes stung, and she wiped sweat from her brow. Her face was hot to the touch and felt like it was starting to burn. It was far too warm where they were. Some part of her wanted to just get up and go find shelter. But...

She glanced over at Lucifer. His face was red and clammy and his breathing had gotten even worse.

She nodded to herself; she could do this. She scooted closer across the hard ground. “Come on,” she said, as matter-of-factly as she could manage. She shoved at his shoulder. “Up you get.”

He groaned, and his fingers tightened against the rocks.

“Okay, okay,” she muttered, dragging herself up to stand. There would be no point in trying to bring Lucifer anywhere until she had somewhere to go. She was, frankly, terrified that he would try to pull the wings off again, but she couldn’t see any other option. “I’m gonna go look for—“

He lunged sideways, feathers ruffled, and caught at her ankle. And she knew the strength in his arms, now, but his hand was gentle, even in the depths of his delirium.

“D-d-don’t. _ Please.” _

She bit her lip. “I have to.”

His fingers loosened, and his hand fell to the sand. She could feel his gaze on her as she walked away. And even though she _ had _to leave him, her chest ached. She remembered how he’d looked after Father Frank died, after whatever had happened on Halloween, after she’d found him on the sand only yesterday, all the light gone from his eyes.

* * *

Chloe found _ something _. Not a cave, like she might’ve hoped for, but, over a ridge and a concerning number of yards down a gentle slope, there was a rocky outcropping from a high stone protrusion. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.

She was panting when she made it back to Lucifer. Through the heat shimmer—which had only gotten worse—she could tell he was lying on his side, now. His shoulders were hunched, and he was shaking. 

“Lucifer!” she called out, not wanting him to feel abandoned for any longer than he had to, but her voice was stolen by the wind. Though she could hear him. 

He was yelling in a language she couldn’t understand, again, though this was harsh and guttural where the first had been sweetly melodic. He was curled in on himself like he was being attacked, and there was panic in his voice, and fear. 

She tried to rush to him, but she couldn’t force herself to move faster even as his shouts turned to screams and his body shook like he was weathering invisible blows. He grabbed at the wings, pulling them into painful-looking angles to shield himself better from whatever he thought was happening.

And then she got close enough to see his face.

He was looking up at the sky, as he had before, but his face was devoid of anger, of outrage, twisted instead with pain and grief and _ loss_. He got to his knees, at what seemed like great cost. His voice shook, switching back to the soft melodicism that made her heart ache just hearing it. He moved between languages so quickly she stopped being able to tell which was which.

And then he switched to English.

_ “Why?” _ he asked, with a desperation so deep she didn’t even understand it. He let go of his death grip on his wings, his hands trailing upward, clenching in his hair. He rocked back and forth. “Is-is this another punishment? For mum? For-for…?” He bowed his head, voice lowering to barely more than a whisper. “What did I do?”

_ Mum? _ Did he mean Charlotte Richards? Was she…? Chloe shook herself from her thoughts and took a deep breath before approaching. She didn’t think he was likely to accidentally hit her with his wings again, and only the vaguest edge of fear echoed in her veins. “Lucifer…”

He looked up at her, eyes pleading, but she didn’t have any answers for him.

“I-I found some place where we can get out of the sun.”

He blinked like he didn’t understand.

She sighed and gathered up their supplies and the discarded drug patch, wrapping it all in the tatters of his shirt and jacket. When she stepped back in front of him, he hadn’t moved a muscle. She transferred the bundle to one arm, and leaned down to take his hand.

It was so hot she instinctively dropped it, and it fell limply back to his side. She grabbed his hand again, gritted her teeth against the pain, and tugged. Thankfully, he moved with her, rising numbly to his feet.

Slowly, she walked them to the outcropping, his wings dragging against the rocky ground. When they arrived, something like familiarity flickered over his face before he flopped to the earth, wings splayed out behind him, bedraggled and dusty.

Chloe licked her lips; they were dry and cracked. They needed water. Somehow. She remembered vaguely from a nature documentary she’d watched once that there were saltwater pools at the bottom of the ravines, sometimes. The water wasn’t drinkable without desalination, but succulent plants grew along the water’s edge.

She nodded to herself. She could do this. She’d told herself that a concerning number of times today. She looked at Lucifer; he seemed to have fallen into a stupor again. She didn’t want to leave him for a second time, but they’d sweated out so much water they needed more _ now. _

“Lucifer,” she said, worried by her voice’s weakness. “I’m gonna try to find some water.”

The edge of derision passed over his lips, and the fact that he reacted at all made relief bloom in her chest. She could almost hear his response: _Water, in Death Valley, Detective? _

“Okay, I-I’m gonna head down that ravine.” She pointed. His bleary gaze followed her finger, and he blinked again, looking back at her with fear and confusion on his face.

“I have to,” she whispered.

He shut his eyes, his mouth tightening from pain, and leaned back wearily against the rock.

* * *

Thank, again, _ not_-God for pickleweed. It tasted salty, but also sweet, and Chloe had to stop herself from eating every scrap of it she could see. She hadn’t realized she was hungry until she bit into one of the succulent stems and nearly cried. With a basket composed of her somewhat torn up jacket, she made her way back up the ridge to the rocky outcropping where she’d left Lucifer.

Fear shot through her as she got within visible range, not immediately seeing him. But he was still there, just shifted over a little from where he’d been, his face turned away. How quickly she’d gone from fear of seeing him to fear of _ not. _

“Lucifer,” she called as she approached. “I found some food.”

He didn’t turn to look at her.

“Lucifer?” She frowned,stepping around him. “Are you—?”

His face was pale and wan, his eyes were closed, and blood dripped, thick and steady, from his nose. Chloe knelt by his side, wiping at it with her thumb. He flinched and pulled away, and she fell back onto the rocky ground. The wings and the walk had taken so much out of him. Too much, maybe.

"Lucifer," she whispered. He wasn’t unconscious as he’d been before, but trembling, breathing rapidly.

His eyelids fluttered. "...'tective?" His voice was hoarse.

"Oh..." she breathed. She couldn't make herself say anything else but, "Lucifer." Hope welled up in her chest.

"'m fine..." he slurred softly. He seemed to be trying to form more words but they defeated him.

“I need to touch you again, okay?” she said, feeling like she was sitting by a hospital bed. She could almost hear the cruel beeping of the machines. He mumbled, eyes closing again, and she took it as affirmation. He didn’t pull away, this time, when she pressed her fingers against the side of his neck. His pulse wasn’t as weak as she’d feared it might be, but it was rapid and thready. 

She nodded to herself, trying to remember how to treat shock. _ Loosen tight clothing_, she recalled from the seminar she’d had to take once. “Okay, Lucifer? I’m going to take your shoes and belt off. Alright?”

He hissed out a breath. “On-on the first date, Detective?”

She felt like she might cry at the innuendo, and rolled her eyes, feeling unreasonably fond. “Shut up, Lucifer,” she said softly. She moved down to his feet and pulled off his shoes and socks, and, somewhat awkwardly, crawled back up to unfasten his belt.

He shivered, but his skin was still so warm. He sniffed and a bit more blood dripped from his nose. She wiped it off. “It-it’s going to be alright. We’re going to get through this.”

“I believe you,” he said weakly. His head drifted to the side, and he was still.

* * *

The sun finally started setting, and Chloe’s relief quickly turned to concern. Lucifer was still out of it, still shivering, and the temperature was dropping rapidly. Even she was starting to get cold. But Lucifer’s skin was still hot, and she curled up beside him, his wing drooping over her back.

He groaned, and she turned to look at him. His wings shook, suddenly, and she was afraid again. That he would flail and rage, and she would get cut up by the wings. But they only slumped back to the rocky ground, and his eyes opened, if only partway.

He blinked and stared at nothing, or maybe at the sunset. “_ Mum_…” he whispered.

Chloe bit her lip, but remained quiet.

“I’ll never...I’ll never—” He inhaled sharply. “And Linda… hurt ‘cause of me.”

Was _ that _ why Linda was in the hospital? What had—?

“And-and the detective,” he whispered, shuddering against her, reaching up to grab at his hair again. “My… fault.” His fingers clenched, hard, and he cried out.

“Shh…” Chloe reached out to touch his wrist, slowly, remembering the penthouse, the scars.

_ Don’t, please, _he’d said.

His hand relaxed under her fingertips and fell back to his side. “I’m okay,” she told him softly. “I’m not falling apart.”

“No, no, _ no_…” He shook his head roughly

She touched his face to try to get his attention, and his gaze drifted over to her. “Hey.”

He frowned. “Still… here?”

“Of course I’m still here.”

His frown only deepened. “R-real?”

She pressed her fingers more insistently against his uninjured cheek. “I’m real. I’m _ here.” _

“Don’t… deserve...”

She pressed her forehead against his shoulder, letting her arm wrap around his middle, trying to avoid as many bruises as she could. “I’m here, I’m here.” She didn’t know what else to say.

"And-and..." he sputtered, eyes wide and staring.

"Shh." She brushed his hair from his face. "It's okay. Just rest."

"No-no, I have to... before..."

"We're going to get out of here," she said, wishing her voice didn’t sound so weak. 

He gave her a skeptical, if bleary look, but nodded. "Okay...okay..." He sank back against the stone and fell into a deep, if restless, sleep.

And Chloe was left alone, clinging awkwardly to his limp form, as the sun went down.

* * *

Fire. They needed a fire.

After Chloe managed to convince herself to pull away from Lucifer, leaving him limp but agitated against the stone, she glanced around in the growing darkness. She didn’t want to go too far away, especially in the night, _ especially _with Lucifer still shivering. Thankfully, there were creosote bushes scattered around.

She pulled out her multitool again, and hacked a few out of the ground. She used the knife to strip the leaves and cut the bush into twigs. She pulled them into a pile and grabbed Lucifer’s lighter.

It refused to spark a few times, and, when she finally managed to get a flame, the wood refused to catch. 

“Shit!” she cursed tersely.

Behind her, Lucifer stirred. She groaned, staring down at the small fire pit she’d made.

“You...you could have run.” He sounded almost coherent, now, though, when Chloe glanced over at him from where she was still trying desperately to get the fire lit, she saw his wings were still drooping to the sand and his eyes were half-lidded.

“What?” she asked, shaking her head. 

“You could have left me,” he said, insistently. “You move much faster on your own.”

She bit her lip. “I couldn’t do that.”

“Why?” he asked. Not angrily, not self-deprecatingly; with none of his masks and usual deflection, just an old, well-worn sense of disbelief.

“What do you mean, _ why?” _

He tilted his head with apparent great difficulty. “You know what I am, now,” he said flatly.

She frowned. “I told you.”

He blinked, eyes opening a little wider. “You told...?”

She sighed. It was only yesterday but it seemed like it had been weeks. “If you think I don’t know who you really are by now, you’re wrong.”

“But—“

She shook her head again, grimacing from the pain. The pickleweed hadn’t been enough, and the ache was growing stronger. “Nothing’s changed.” It was a lie, but a kind one, for both of them.

But she knew far better than she ever had that Lucifer didn’t lie. _ ”Everything’s _ changed.”

“I knew you wouldn’t hurt me.”

“But I _ have!” _ His eyes were wide, now, staring at her with a bald fear she wasn’t used to.

She reached for the slowly healing wounds on her back by instinct. “Not on purpose.”

“Vegas,” he said. _ ”Candy.” _

She inhaled sharply. “Are you _ trying _to start a fight?”

He offered her an approximation of his most infuriating smirk, but she didn’t buy it for a second.

_ Oh. _ “Or do you _ want _ me to leave?” She slumped, suddenly exhausted, or… _ more _ exhausted. “Of course, you do. You’ve been trying to get me to stop caring for months.”

He looked away, not answering; he wouldn’t lie, after all. 

“Is it about”—she waved her hand vaguely, not quite ready to _ say _it—“but it-it didn’t seem to bother you before.”

“It’s not,” he said, sounding as weary as she felt.

“Then, what?”

He huffed out a breath. “You really want to discuss this now?”

She shrugged, feeling the scabs pull on her back. “What the hell else are we gonna do?” She abandoned her attempts at a fire, turning to watch as Lucifer stared at her in disbelief.

“Okay, _ fine,” _ he said, the back of his skull thudding against the rock. He swallowed dryly, jaw clenching. “You’re… a miracle.”

She blinked. “What?”

He sighed. “My Father had Amenadiel bless your mother so she could conceive.”

_ Amenadiel. _ She hadn’t even made it past Lucifer when her mind had been losing it, before. But of _ course _ Amenadiel was an angel. And Maze, then, really _ was _ a demon. Chloe lived with a demon. And she—

She shook her head. Bed, blankets, box of wine—the existential crisis could wait. “Okay. Okay, so what does that mean?”

Lucifer shrugged, and his wings rolled with the motion, rustling against the stone. “No idea.”

Her brain started to make connections, shooting lightning across her vision, and she grabbed at her head, massaging her forehead. “When...when did you find out?”

“Before you were... poisoned.”

_ Did you know? This whole bloody time, did you know? _

“And so you… ran away to Vegas.”

He nodded.

“No,” she said, shaking her head.

_ “No?” _

And she was, suddenly, furious. “No, you _ left _because you were afraid of how you felt.”

He glared at her, eyes clearing with his anger. “I did not! I was trying to give you a _ choice.” _

“I _ made _ my choice!” Tears pricked at her eyes.

“But you didn’t _ know.” _

“Then you should have _ told _ me!” She threw her hands up. "Should have shown me _ then_. Given me all the information instead of just leaving without explanation."

And, just as suddenly as her anger had come, all the fight went out of him. He slumped back against the rocks. “I wanted to. I _ did. _ But… I was afraid.”

She sniffed and wiped at her face. He didn’t trust her; maybe he never had. But there was still a cruel flicker of hope in her chest, and she took a deep breath. “Were you _ ever _ going to—?”

“I was!”

He didn’t lie, but she still didn’t believe him.

He stammered. “I-I called you. At the hospital. No more going backwards. But-but…”

The voicemail.

“I wanted to tell you _ everything,” _ he continued, eyes shining in the light of the stars. “Just… not like this.” He shook the wings; they fluttered a little. “This—_these_—they aren’t me.”

He had cut them off, she remembered, again. “I know who you are,” she whispered.

Disbelief washed over his face. “N-no, you—”

“_You_,” she said, forcing herself up and over to poke him in the chest, “are Lucifer Morningstar, grade A jerk and general pain in my ass.”

He opened his mouth, but she cut him off. _ “But _ you’re also the only person who believed in me after Palmetto; you can be sweet and kind, don’t pretend you can’t; you always have my back; and...and I…” The words hung in the air for a second, but she let them die.

She knew it wasn’t the right time.

She settled for curling up next to him instead. His skin had cooled a little, and he no longer seemed so feverish. But it was cold and he was still so warm.

After a few minutes, while insects buzzed and Chloe stared up at the sky, amazed at the number of stars she could see, Lucifer sighed and, very carefully, wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “I wish I could fly us out of here,” he said quietly, like he was trying not to break the stillness.

“It’s okay,” she told him. It wasn’t, but there was nothing they could do right now. Maybe tomorrow they could start trying to walk out of here. But her head was pounding, and sleep was tugging at her.

“Don’t worry, Detective,” she heard Lucifer say as she drifted off. “I’ll keep you safe.”

* * *

Chloe woke to a gentle splash of water on her face. She blinked drops out of her eyes as she took in her surroundings. It was morning, and she had fallen asleep pressed against Lucifer, who breathed slowly and steadily beneath her cheek. She sat up, looking around. It had been raining, clearly, but now the sun was out. 

And there were flowers.

Where the ground had been flat and dry and barren, there was yellow, purple, and green. The wildflowers covered the earth as far as she could see, an endless sea of new life still dotted with creosote bushes.

It was cooler today, from the rain, it seemed, and the sun wasn’t beating down so harshly. She stood up, feeling stronger, though her lips were still chapped and her head still ached. She stepped out from under their small shelter and into the field of flowers. And she laughed, feeling like a little girl again. Like she should run through the wildflowers and pick a bouquet to—

“Detective?”

Chloe spun around, grinning and breathless. Lucifer was standing—Lucifer was _ standing _—wings no longer trailing on the ground, but splayed behind him, filled with a strength they hadn’t had the day before. He shook, scattering raindrops as she approached, painting iridescence against his feathers.

She watched the light play across them, before her gaze slowly drifted back to his face. The flush of sunburn on his skin was gone, and the bruises were continuing to fade. His hair was a mess as he brushed it off his forehead, blinking grime out of his eyes.

“It rained.” The words didn’t seem big enough when she said them, and those other words burned under her skin.

He glanced past her. “I see that.” There was something odd in his expression. He cleared his throat. “I ought to be able to fly us out of here, now.”

She sighed in relief, then frowned. Why did he…? _ Oh. _

She walked past him, over to his belt on the ground. She picked it up, running the leather through her hands for a moment, steeling herself. She looked back up at him and handed him the belt.

“So… about that first date?”

His expression cleared, like the sun coming out, and he smiled.

“I think I would like that.”

And maybe, just maybe, they’d be okay. At least, after they found whoever had kidnapped them, and why.

**Author's Note:**

> Additional warnings: Grief, panic attacks, self-harm


End file.
